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CHAPTER XIX

AS Sir John Fenton-Douglas walked slowly up the winding avenue of the Pines after his somewhat startling interview with Mr. Hume, he thought much.

"So that healthy, bouncing, clever-looking girl is dead," was the hurried exclamation which dropped from his lips; "and the other girl who was in the last stage of consumption is alive. The consumptive girl has recovered her health, and is now a married woman. I left her dying. In my opinion she had not a week longer to live. She is now married to Henley, and is, according to her uncle, in superb health. Impossible!"

Sir John stopped in his walk.

"There are no miracles in these days," he muttered. "I could not have been mistaken; I attended her for some weeks. One lung was gone, and the other nearly so. The girl who died, and who must have died pretty quickly, was in the ruddiest health when I saw her last. The consumptive girl, who had, in my opinion, not a week to live, is now quite well. What does this thing mean?"

Sir John thought hard. He was not an imaginative man, nor one likely to suspect anybody. The daring game which Kate had played would have been impossible for him even to conceive, but he was so far disturbed by Mr. Hume's news that he could scarcely eat his dinner, and his wife noticed his abstraction.

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"There must be another Kate Bouverie," he said to himself; "that is the only explanation. And yet Mr. Hume did speak of the girl in question as living at the Villa Beau Séjour."

"What is the matter, John?" said his wife.

"Nothing," he replied. He was always a very taciturn man.

Lady Fenton-Douglas looked as if she did not quite believe this statement.

"My dear," he said then, "I am trying to untie a knotty problem."

He did not tell his wife anything about his meeting with Mr. Hume. She was rather sore on the subject of the Henleys, considering that Kate and her husband had been guilty of rudeness in leaving Castellis just on the arrival of herself and family.

Sir John spent several hours in his study that night. While there he studied the latest medical works on tuberculosis. He looked into that tremendous subject from every point of view, trying to bring the newest lights to bear upon it. At the end of his reading he shook his head, feeling more puzzled than ever.

By the next morning he came to a resolution. Why should he not visit the Henleys? Why should he not see Kate Bouverie, his old patient, once again? Nothing would be more natural than for him to call on her. Mrs. Henley was his landlady--Henley he already knew. If she were indeed his old patient, how glad she would be to talk of her marvellous recovery! and, doubtless, he could induce her to allow him to sound her lungs--thus many perplexities would be laid to rest.

Notwithstanding his great change of fortune, Sir | | 183 John Fenton-Douglas had still an intense love for his profession, and there were days when he longed for the old busy practical life.

"A case like this ought to be reported in the Lancet," he said to himself. "Yes, I must get the young lady to let me apply the stethoscope. I will go to Falmouth by the first train this morning."

But all that day Sir John found that he could not go to Falmouth. A large party of friends were coming, and Lady Fenton-Douglas meant her husband to meet them. The next day, however, nothing prevented his carrying out his intention, and between twelve and one o'clock he found himself walking up the Parade in the direction of the Victoria Hotel. He reached the hotel, inquired for the Henleys, and sent up his card.

Kate had just come in from a walk. She, Ethel, and Mary were standing near one of the windows examining some purchases they had made. Henley was writing at a little table some way off. From where he sat he could see his wife's face in a mirror. He glanced now and then at her blooming, healthy face with a puzzled expression. Surely what she had said to him the night before was only a dream! Surely she, his lovely Kate, was not consumptive! It is true he had heard before now that consumptive people often looked in robust health. Perhaps this was the case with Kate; and, beyond doubt, the taint was in the family, the girl's mother having died of the dreaded disease. He must not delay in taking her away. He hated the thought of going to Australia; he was an Englishman, every inch of him, and loved his native land, but all wishes of his own must be put into subservience to the one | | 184 most passionate desire of his life--to keep the young wife so precious to him by his side.

Just then a waiter entered the room bearing Sir John Fenton-Douglas's card.

He brought the card to Kate.

"The gentleman has inquired for you, madam, and is waiting in the coffee-room," he said.

Mrs. Henley glanced at the card, then went across the room to her husband, bent down, and began to whisper in his ear.

"Sir John Fenton-Douglas has come," she whispered. "Go and see him for me, Ralph; I cannot. Make any excuse you like. I cannot see him. I won't!"

"My dear Kitty, don't you--"

She placed her hand across his mouth.

"No, no, I cannot. I won't see him. Take him out for a walk; give him lunch in the coffee-room. Don't ask me to see him."

"All right, darling; don't distress yourself. I will look after him."

Henley turned to the waiter, who was still standing in an attitude of attention near the door.

"Tell Sir John Fenton-Douglas that I will be with him immediately," he said.

The man withdrew.

Ethel, who was returning her packages to their brown-paper wrappings, looked up now with a start.

"Has Sir John Fenton-Douglas called?" she said. "Oh, I should so like to meet him! He is the man with the romantic history--the doctor who attended your poor little friend Kate Mildmay when you were in Mentone, Kate."

"So should I greatly like to see Sir John," said Mary in that slow, somewhat emphatic way in which | | 185 she had lately learned to speak. "Of course, Kate, you are going to ask him up?"

"No," replied Kate.

"But," echoed Mary, "what do you mean?"

"Because I do not wish to see him."

"But this is most extraordinary," said Mary.

"Oh, never mind," interrupted Ralph, coming forward at that moment. "For goodness' sake, girls, don't worry Kate; she is not well. There, my love, you shall do just as you wish. I will see Sir John."

Henley slowly left the room. He went down-stairs, pausing at every third step. He was completely puzzled. "How could any one guess even for a moment that my brilliant, darling, spirited Kate had once been consumptive?--and is now devoured by nervous terrors," thought the young man. "Wonders never cease!"

He entered the coffee-room. Sir John Fenton-Douglas came forward.

"How do you do?" he said. "I happened to be in Falmouth, and thought I would call to pay my respects to your wife."

"I am sorry to tell you, Sir John, that Kate is not quite well, and cannot see you to-day."

"Indeed." Sir John had a somewhat red face; it now became a shade more rubicund. "Did you say your wife was ill?"

"She is not well. She is strangely nervous and depressed. The old associations with you in the past are--"

"You can speak out," said Sir John.

"She never told me until last night, but it seems she was very ill when you saw her last."

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"She certainly was."

"Shall we go on the Parade for a little? You will lunch with me presently, of course; but I should like to talk this matter out thoroughly with you."

A satisfied expression crept over Sir John's face. This was exactly what he wished to do himself. Henley gave orders with regard to lunch, and then took his guest out.

Kate, who had now retired to her bedroom, watched them from behind a curtain. She had left the girls to wonder and speculate to their heart's content. She was alone.

"Oh, what is he going to tell him?" she thought. She clasped her hands tightly together in her agony.

The two men turned in the direction of the sea.

"I am really sorry I cannot see Mrs. Henley," said Sir John. "Her recovery has given me the most unfeigned pleasure, and I wished to congratulate her. I was much astonished when I heard from Mr. Hume two nights ago that the young lady whom you had married was the same whom I attended at Mentone last year."

"Yes, she is the same. As I said just now, she told me last night that she had been very ill when you attended her."

"She told you the truth."

"Will you be quite frank with me, Sir John, and tell me if, in your opinion, my wife was in danger at that time?"

"Danger!" said Sir John, thrown off his guard and a little nettled at Kate's refusal to see him. "My dear sir, in my opinion your wife at that time had not twenty-four hours to live."

"Impossible! You cannot be telling me the | | 187 truth. Kate had not twenty-four hours to live! Some accident."

"Nothing of the kind."

"What ailed her then?"

"Consumption, sir--galloping consumption, if you like to give it its true name! One lung gone, the other nearly so!"

"You must be mistaken," said Henley. He started back. It seemed to him as if a hand had clutched his throat. His bonny, blooming Kate ill--ill unto death.

"I see you are overcome," said Sir John. "Some miracle has taken place if your wife is well now; but I am telling you the truth with regard to her condition then."

"But, my dear sir, people as ill as all that--I have studied the subject a little myself--do not recover as my wife recovered. She is nervous and fanciful, it is true, but I have never even heard her cough. She is absolutely healthy."

"I am astonished and delighted to hear it," said Sir John. "I called to-day for the express purpose of seeing her in order to ascertain with my own eyes if her recovery is likely to be permanent."

"Oh, you must see her. She is queerly nervous about you, and says that her old unpleasant feelings will return if you visit her."

"She must not be so silly," replied Sir John. "I should like much to examine her lungs. The disease, of course, has been arrested, but it behoves you, Mr. Henley, to take precautions."

"Then you think she ought to winter abroad?"

"Undoubtedly; but I will tell you more after I have applied the stethoscope. Let me see her for | | 188 three or four minutes; I will promise not to worry her."

"Of course she shall see you. I will tell her that you need not meet again for some little time. It is not, of course, that she dislikes you personally, but--I think you understand."

"I am puzzled," said Sir John; " and, doubtless, a sight of your wife will clear up some mysteries. For instance, her young companion--a fine, blooming, handsome girl--has died, and your delicate wife is restored to health."

"That is so; but do not let us say any more. Come back with me now to lunch. I will tell Kitty afterwards and persuade her to see you."

The men returned to the hotel, had lunch together, and soon afterwards Henley went up to his wife's room. He entered the drawing-room. Mary was lounging in an easy-chair. Neither Kate nor Ethel were to be seen.

"Mary," said Henley, "do you know where Kitty is?"

"I suppose she is in her room. She wouldn't take any lunch. Sir John Fenton-Douglas's arrival upset her very much. What does it mean, Ralph?"

"Why should you suppose it means anything, Mary? But there, I must tell you the truth. My poor darling Kitty has an hereditary tendency to consumption, and I mean to take her to Australia immediately."

Mary gave a scornful laugh.

"Why do you laugh like that, Mary?"

"Because you are such a goose, Ralph. Forgive me for saying so. Kate is no more consumptive than I am."

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"You would not say that if you had had a conversation with Sir John."

" I should like to have a conversation with him very much."

"But not on the subject of Kate," said Henley with some spirit. "I am not going to have her worried. There, I can't stay any longer, Mary. I must find her."

Henley entered the bedroom, which opened out of the drawing-room. It was empty. He rang the bell and Marryat appeared.

"Marryat," he said, "where is your mistress?"

"Mrs. Henley went out half-an-hour ago, sir."

"Out! Did she tell you where she was going?"

"No, sir."

"That will do, Marryat."

Henley went downstairs.

""Well, will she see me?" said Sir John.

"She has gone out, Sir John. I cannot find her."

"Then I will call another day. Give my compliments to your wife, and tell her that I am delighted to hear of her marvellous recovery to health. Say that I will do myself the honour of calling on her some day next week."

He took his departure, and Henley, with a sigh of relief at seeing the last of him, went to the smoking-room.

"How uncomfortable he made me feel!" he said to himself. "On the whole, I am glad that he has gone. He must have had a dream about Kitty. She never, never surely was so near the point of death."

Between five and six o'clock he saw Kate returning. He went into the hall to meet her.

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"Well?" she said, looking at him. Her lips trembled and her eyes were brighter than he had ever seen them.

"Sir John has gone, darling. But oh, Kitty, I must have a talk with you. Come to our room. I want to say something to you all alone."

Kate immediately turned and went upstairs. Her steps were firm but her heart was like lead.

"He does not know all. He does not even suspect the truth yet," she said to herself. "And yet he knows far, far more than he ought."

They entered the bedroom, and Henley shut the door.

"Well, Kate," he said, "I wrung the truth out of Sir John, and he really gave me a most alarming account of your health last year at Mentone. My darling, we must go to Australia immediately; but beforehand I want you to do something for me."

"I will certainly do what I can, Ralph."

"I want you to relieve my fears."

"How?"

"You can do it easily. Sir John is a very kind and courteous and, I am sure, clever man. He saw you in your illness; he wants to see you again."

"No, no," said Kate, turning away. "I cannot see him; don't ask me."

"But, dearest, do be reasonable. He wishes to examine your lungs. Will you not let him for my sake?"

"Not even for your sake," said Kate.

"Not if I beg and beseech of you? Kate, my dear, you are not a silly, nervous woman--not really, I mean. Do relieve my anxiety."

Kate remained silent for a moment or two.

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"If you really wish it, and it is indispensable, you must get some other doctor to examine my lungs," she said, "but not Dr. Fenton. I hate the man, and I won't see him."

Henley looked at her with much distress.

"I tell you what it is," he said suddenly. "You and I will go up to town to-morrow. We can stay for a couple of days, and you shall see Dr. Martin Hewitt, the best man for consumption. Will you do that?"

"If you insist, Ralph. But why will you not believe that I am better? Do I look like a consumptive person?"

"I told Sir John that you did not."

"Ah, you told him that?"

"Indeed, I did; but then you know, darling, consumptive people often look well. You must relieve my anxiety. I insist on your seeing a first-rate physician. Australia may not be the best place for you to go to. Consumptive patients are often now sent to high altitudes. We must take the very best advice, Kate. You know, my darling, you are no ordinary person; you are my precious little wife, and a very rich woman. You shan't die, my own Kitty, not if I can keep you alive."

"Ah!" she said, with a pant; "how much you love me!" Her lips were parted, tears trembled in her eyes, and the next moment she ran to her husband, put her arms round his neck, laid her head on his shoulder and burst into tears.

"Oh, my dearest," she sobbed, "I want to live for you. I won't die. Can you not believe that I am stronger now? Can you not believe that I am quite well?"

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"There is nothing I more earnestly wish to believe, Kitty; but this London doctor must see you."

"Very well," she answered. Her heart sank. "We will go to-morrow morning."

She thought hard. Her wits must help her through the coming ordeal. After all, anything would be better than staying in the neighbourhood of Sir John Fenton-Douglas.

"I will get an A B C," said Henley, "and we will look up the trains." His usual good spirits returned at the prospect of immediate action. He brought the railway guide into their room, and they looked up the trains together.

"It is a long journey," said Henley; "but the best train leaves here at eleven. We shall reach Paddington about seven in the evening. On the following morning we will go to see the doctor, and we can return here the next day if you wish it."

"Very well," answered Kate.

Her husband looked at her, noticed the weary tone of her voice, uttered a sigh, and left the room.

Kate rang her bell, and Marryat appeared.

Marryat looked important, and as if she were bubbling over to say something. Kate knew that expression on her face only too well.

"What is it?" she said wearily. "Anything fresh?"

"Nothing particularly fresh, madam; but that man Rogers is in Falmouth. I saw him to-day."

Kate turned white.

"Then I am doing right to go away," she said to herself. "Marryat," she continued in a brisk voice, which concealed the fear which was eating into her heart, "Mr. Henley and I are going to London to-morrow."

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"Of course, you will want me to pack your things and go with you, madam."

"You must pack for me, of course, but you can stay here. You must see Rogers and keep him at bay. You may give him a trifle. Here is a five-pound note. Get it changed into sovereigns, and give him one at a time. Whatever happens, Marryat, keep him at bay; he is dangerous."

"He knows something of your past, Mrs. Henley?"

"He knows something which I do not wish mentioned. To have it known would annoy me very much. We need not discuss that matter."

"It seems a pity you wouldn't see Sir John Fenton-Douglas to-day, madam."

"I could not, Marryat; the man got on my nerves."

"You won't tell the reason?"

No; I am tired and have a headache. Marryat, you are to keep the fact that I have gone to London a secret from Rogers."

Marryat remained silent, looking fixedly at Kate. After a time she came forward, bent low over her mistress and said--

"You are going to London, and, doubtless, that is well; but if I were you I would do something else."

"What is that?"

"I would take the two young ladies up to town with me."

"Why so? Surely Ethel--"

"Oh, as to Miss Ethel," said Marryat in a tone of contempt, "I am not considering her one way or the other; but Miss Mary is dangerous."

"Dangerous!" said Kate. "What do you mean?"

"She knows a little, and she means to know more. | | 194 She distrusts you, madam, and is not friendly. I have read her thought in her face, and I know I am right. Don't leave her behind. She might come across Sir John Fenton-Douglas, for instance, or she might meet Rogers. In such a case there is no saying what mischief might take place. Take the young ladies to London; it will be safer."

"Thank you, Marryat; I will do so."

Soon afterwards Kate left the room. Dinner was announced, and the little party took their usual meal just as if nothing had occurred. Kate laughed, talked, and made herself merry as if no sword of Damocles was hanging over head. Mary watched her, but could detect no unwonted alarm or uneasiness in her blooming face.

Ralph also watched her, and comforted his heart with the truism that the wisest doctors make mistakes, and that Kitty, his darling, was not seriously ill.

When dessert was placed on the table Kate bent forward and touched Mary on the arm.

"Will you and Ethel pack your things to-night?" she said.

Mary started.

"What do you mean?"

"This. Ralph and I have to go to town to-morrow on business, and it will be a good opportunity for you and Ethel to come with us."

"But, Kate, what do you mean?" cried Ethel. "Father and mother are still away, and the Grange is dismantled."

"Really, my dear Kitty," cried Henley in astonishment, "the girls may just as well stay here; you know we intend to return on Friday."

"We cannot tell what our plans will be," replied | | 195 Kate. I am sorry to seem inhospitable, but there is no use keeping rooms on at this expensive hotel, and surely Ethel and Mary know me too well to be offended. My dear cousins, the facts are these. It is inconvenient to me your remaining at Falmouth any longer. If you will get ready we can all go to London together to-morrow, and the next day you can proceed to the Grange. We will take you to our own hotel for the night."

Ethel turned pale and then red.

"If you really wish it, Kate," she said.

Mary was silent for a moment.

"Come, Ethel, and let us pack," was her short remark then.

"Marryat must help you," cried Kate.

"No, thank you," answered Mary.

The girls left the room and went slowly upstairs.

"She is afraid--and that is why she is sending us away," said Mary.

Ethel stared at her sister but did not reply.